


the escape to something that's worse

by pleasekalemenow



Series: i will never be seen (Jonelias -> Jonmartin) [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Asexuality Spectrum, Developing Relationship, Dubious Consent, Forced Masturbation, Forced Orgasm, Gray-Asexuality, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Jon enjoys kink but he's not doing it in a healthy way, Jon thinks he's a monster, Jon uses sex to self-harm, M/M, Mirror Sex, No Beta We Die Like Jon, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Please read with caution, Power Dynamics, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sexual Abuse, Spoilers, Unhealthy Relationships, Vanilla, Voyeurism, author projecting trauma onto Jon, hurt/little comfort, my timeline now, that is not a joke. vanilla sex happens later on and it's kind of upsetting in context
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:01:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23001073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasekalemenow/pseuds/pleasekalemenow
Summary: Martin is all tender brushes and embraces and soft glances. Martin doesn’t tell Jon he loves him, but Jon Knows anyway and he feels bad about that but not for the reasons he should. Martin’s tongue is gentle and clever, like a paintbrush across Jon’s neck, drawing something that feels beautiful but leaves nothing for him to look at after. Fingers trail down his spine, feather-light, but the touch scalds his skin and turns his stomach.-Elias is hands around his throat and sobbing and sharp things in tender places. Elias doesn’t love Jon, not really, but he loves the power he has over him, loves hurting him, molding him, putting him in his place. Jon loves the brief, spiteful moments where he can go too far, push too hard, take information Elias doesn’t want to give him. When Jon begs him to put the marks in places where please, where Martin won’t see them, he’s all too happy to oblige, teeth digging ever lower, drawing blood to the surface and breaking skin. His fists, forever in Jon’s hair, pulling so hard that tears fall even as Jon bites the inside of his cheek, excise some deeper hurt, satisfy the voice that says I deserve this.---Title is from "The Hearse" by Matt Maeson.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: i will never be seen (Jonelias -> Jonmartin) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653004
Comments: 22
Kudos: 118





	the escape to something that's worse

**Author's Note:**

> So. I do have an outline and a plot for this story which does eventually involve Jon recovering and getting himself a better relationship, but the road to get there will be long and rocky.  
> Updates will be irregular, since I'm honestly using this fic to process my own trauma in a healthier way than is my instinct. (I'm doing alright, no worries! Writing this is cathartic.)  
> All this being said, I will endeavor to tag triggers at the top of each chapter and in the tags, but if you need anything else tagged please do not hesitate to ask! Stay safe out there, kiddos.

If Jon were still seeing the therapist Georgie recommended to him after they broke up, he knew full well that everything about his current situation would be considered...well, it’d be _considered._ His eyes are squeezed tightly shut as he tries to focus on the way he feels and not what exactly it is he is feeling.

Elias’s firm grip on his chin pulls him back into himself with disorienting rapidness.

“Look at yourself, Jon.” His voice in Jon’s ear, too close. Too soft. Jon resists at first, but Elias anticipates this, of course, and his other hand jerks particularly viciously. Jon forces his eyes open as he sobs around the ball gag in his mouth.

He’s in Elias’s office, sat on his lap, facing a large mirror. It wasn’t here when he first started working here, Jon’s sure, and he can’t bear to wonder if it was purchased for just this purpose. Elias is fully dressed, but he’s naked, and he’s clenching the arms of the chair as Elias mercilessly strokes his cock. In the reflection, Elias’s eyes pierce right through him. The sight makes bile rise in the back of his throat even as his body has another reaction entirely.

“Do you see yourself, Jon?” Elias’s voice is horrifically casual, as if this were just another grooming exercise. Jon supposes, in many ways, it is. Elias grips his cock entirely too tight with his next stroke. “Answer me.”

Jon could just nod, or hum his affirmative, but they’ve been doing this long enough by now that Jon knows what Elias is looking for. He moves his mouth, tries to form the words, _Yes, I see myself, and I hate it_. The words come out as garbled nonsense and Elias laughs, his next stroke softer, twisting his wrist over the head of his cock just so. It’s almost worse, when Elias is gentle with him, Jon thinks. Then Elias’s mouth is on his neck, teeth digging into his skin, drawing forth a mark that Jon knows instinctively will take a long while to heal, and then he isn’t thinking at all.

“Look at you. For all your protests you _love_ this. I’m sure you wish I’d pin you down, fuck you _properly_ .” Jon doesn’t wish that, but he shudders anyway. “What would your precious researchers say if they knew you were sleeping with the _enemy?_ ” Elias’s voice is remarkably unaffected, but his laugh is hoarse. “Of course, you know better, don’t you, Archivist? This--” He strokes his thumb over a sensitive spot and Jon lets out a sound that could be a moan or a sob. “--is what you were meant for, what you were _made_ to do. Your body is a temple, Jon. To the Eye.” Teeth again, dragged across Jon’s earlobe. “To _me._ ”

Jon tries to argue, but his words are unintelligible and it sounds quite a bit more like _begging_ and Elias’s pace quickens mercilessly. “You’re so far from what you were, Jon. Only a monster could get the things from this that you do. Might as well just _enjoy it._ ”

At that, Jon snaps, spilling over Elias’s hand with a broken cry. It’s not pleasure so much as it is a knife cutting through him, opening some wound deep inside and releasing the pus from where it’s gone infected. But then Elias’s open mouth connects with his jaw and it’s like the open wound is wrapped up with a dirty bandage. His eyes finally drop from the mirror to the space between his legs and the mess there. Bitterly, he hopes some of it got on Elias’s nice trousers. But, then--there are still people in the Archives. God knows he doesn’t want anyone wondering where it came from.

He wrests away from Elias’s grip, standing and removing the ball gag as he grabs a few tissues. His employer’s eyes, as always, follow him relentlessly.

“Aren’t you going to tidy up?” He hopes his voice is ice. He doesn’t look at Elias--just cleans himself and stares at a fascinating spot on the wall.

“There’ll be time once you leave. I’m just admiring the view for now.”

Jon nearly gags but covers it with a scoff as he dresses quickly as he can. “As if my leaving the room prevents that.”

“It’s not the same,” Elias says, with a level of fondness that turns Jon’s stomach. The fondness isn’t for *him*, he knows that; it’s for whatever he’s turning Jon into. For however much closer _this_ brings them to that end goal. Jon leaves, feeling a level filth he knows he won’t be able to scrub away, and feeling eyes on his back that linger long after he’s already tried to scrub it off anyway.

\---

“Jon, your tea’s gone cold.”

Martin’s voice comes as a bit of a shock to Jon, who can’t help himself from jumping.

“Martin--what did I say about barging in here while I’m working?”

Martin frowns. “The door was open, Jon. And I knocked. You were just…” He politely doesn’t say _zoning out_ , but they both know. “Um. Are you feeling alright?”

He’s not, but Jon nods anyway. He doesn’t have a _meeting_ with Elias today, and he can’t figure out if he’s glad or not. Hypothetically, he should be working on research for a statement right now. And he must be; there’s more text on the document he’s compiling notes on than there were before, and he has approximately a metric fuckton of tabs open, so… “Just got a bit lost in my work, is all.” Then, remembering he’s trying to be less of an absolute prat, he adds, “Thank you for asking.”

Martin sets down a second cup of tea, this one hot. Normally he just refills the same mug. Jon absentmindedly wonders how he knew this one wasn’t empty.

“Of course, Jon.” He moves his feet a bit, and his mouth opens and shuts, as if he’s considering saying something more.

“...Yes, Martin?”

“Have you eaten today?”

Jon shrugs almost imperceptibly. “I’ve had some tea.”

“You’ve let some tea go cold, you mean.” Martin fixes him with a look of exasperation and...something else. “It’s nearly two in the afternoon, Jon.”

“I’m well aware of the time, thank you, Martin.” He wasn’t, but that’s not important.

“Come get lunch with me.” Martin says it firmly, his jaw set in resolution, but Jon Knows that he means it as a question anyway. He could say no if he wanted to.

He looks at his laptop screen and his head spins. Martin worries his lip slightly, and Jon makes himself meet his eyes.

“Alright.”

-

Lunch with Martin is different than he expected. Of course, it’s not like they’d never eaten together before, so Jon assumed he’d had a good idea of what was in store, but Martin doesn’t ramble on between bites of his tuna melt. The two of them sit together in surprisingly companionable silence, and Jon pretends that if he doesn’t acknowledge the concerned glances of his employee that they aren’t really happening.

It’s nice.

It’s over too quickly, he finds.

Later, after Jon's been staring at his screen so long without doing anything that it's gone dark, he stares at his reflection on the black reflective surface. His eyes pore over his face, cataloging every detail, trying to figure out what it is about him that Martin sees as something worth saving.

Worm scars, knife wounds litter his face and neck. Green eyes glare at him accusingly where there used to be brown. In them, he can still see Elias's piercing gaze reflected back at him. He slams the laptop shut with no small amount of revulsion and presses his heels against his closed eyes as hard as he can manage as if that will change the irrefutable evidence of what he's becoming.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, then please leave kudos and/or a comment!  
> Please take care of yourselves out there. There's only one of you. <3


End file.
